


Human Limitations

by Anonymous



Series: Minor Irritations [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A bit of sex at the end, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, Multi, Oh will you look at that they switched genitalia again, Omorashi, This is still very omorashi-focused however, Wetting, for now at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-10-24 08:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Crowley tried to respond to all three statements at once. The result was something like “I mean - I was just saying - wait, angel, escapade? It’s not a bloody escapade, it’s you giving me drinks until I eventually piss myself. That’s not an escapade, it’s a -” he trailed off, unable to actually find a better term, and was grateful that he’d stopped speaking before he could blurt outand I like to do the work. I like to take care of you.“It’s a mess, is what it is.”He rethought his phrasing. “Not that I’m tired of it. It’s a pretty good kind of mess. As messes go.”In which Crowley and Aziraphale are in love. There's omorashi involved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I keep moving further and further away from any sort of kinkmeme prompt and wander further and further into self-indulgent what-if scenarios, I figured I'd better make a different work altogether. 
> 
> This is a direct sequel to Minor Irritations, which you should feel free to check out if you'd like! Probably would make a bit more sense. But only a bit. 
> 
> This is a fic about omorashi/desperation and wetting in a sexual context. If you're not into that, that's cool, have a nice day, but you have been warned.

Crowley woke to Aziraphale playing with his hair again. 

Perhaps he should grow it out, he thought aimlessly, before opening his eyes to a view of slanting light from where his head was cradled in Aziraphale's lap.

“Morning,” he murmured as both a greeting and an observation, feeling around halfheartedly for his sunglasses. Aziraphale smiled at him and did not offer help. He was dressed in his usual clothes and looked very well put together, Crowley noticed - unlike Crowley himself, who was still in the miracled and somewhat disheveled pyjamas from the previous night. 

(They were nice pyjamas, though. Satiny and everything.) 

“Good morning, my dear.” Aziraphale continued to play with the shorter hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck, making it impossible for him to turn his head and find the sunglasses without losing the contact. _ Blatant _manipulation, really. “Or, nearly afternoon.” 

“Wore me out.” Speaking of, his bladder felt full and tender again. He snapped his fingers, vanishing its contents entirely. Not worth it at the moment. “We still going for dinner later?” 

“Of course, if you’re amenable,” said Aziraphale, but he seemed preoccupied with the finger snap. “What was that?” 

“Getting rid of the bladder again - oh, _ don’t _look at me like that, angel, it’s a pain when I’m not using it.” 

“I’m sure I don’t know what look you mean,” said Aziraphale, who had deflated a bit. 

“Didn’t _ actually _get rid of it,” Crowley hastened to add. “Just anything in it. ‘S fine. Unless you wanted…?” 

Aziraphale laughed, and removed his hand from Crowley’s hair so he could sit up. He did so, but promptly leaned into Aziraphale’s side, settling himself in. 

“It’s quite all right, my dear. We have plenty to be getting on with, and it does sound uncomfortable.” 

“‘S not that bad, actually,” Crowley said, though he was more preoccupied with his newfound conviction that his hair would benefit from touching the tops of his shoulders. The hair in question grumbled a bit, but stretched to fit the new dimensions. Excellent. This distracted him enough that he didn’t pay full attention to his next words. “You should try it sometime.” 

“Mm, perhaps I should.” Aziraphale fell silent, mulling it over. Crowley sat the rest of the way up and finger-combed his new hair into a semblance of order before (finally) locating and retrieving the sunglasses. “Now?” 

“Wait, what - really?” 

“You _ did _just suggest it. Unless you’re tired of this sort of escapade, which is of course quite all right. But it hardly seems fair to make you do all of the work.” 

Crowley tried to respond to all three statements at once. The result was something like “I mean - I was just saying - wait, angel, _ escapade? _ It’s not a bloody _ escapade, _ it’s you giving me drinks until I eventually piss myself. That’s not an escapade, it’s a -” he trailed off, unable to actually find a better term, and was grateful that he’d stopped speaking before he could blurt out _ and I like to do the work. I like to take care of you. _“It’s a mess, is what it is.” 

He rethought his phrasing. “Not that I’m tired of it. It’s a pretty good kind of mess. As messes go.” 

Aziraphale only laughed. “Well, I suppose I should experience it for myself at some point, if that’s all right.” Now that he’d addressed that, he beamed. “Oh, but look at you! That’s quite fetching, I’ve always thought you looked wonderful with long hair.” 

Crowley absolutely did not go red. “I - ah - thanks,” he muttered, before remembering the conversation at hand. “Anyway, ‘course it’s all right.” Now that he mentioned it, it might be fun. Someone only knew how much he loved to watch Aziraphale find pleasure in things. “But if you start now you won’t make it through dinner. Try a few hours before we leave, yeah?” 

“You know best, I’m sure.” 

* * *

Aziraphale _ had _listened to him, surprisingly enough, and not given himself any new organs until about two hours before they left for a small Italian restaurant he so dearly wanted to try. 

However, Crowley had failed to consider that Aziraphale was completely unused to the sensation of having a bladder at all, let alone a full one. And Aziraphale had a terrible poker face, no knowledge of where his limits were, and not much patience for discomfort. (That was, if his tendency to pout at Crowley until whatever was bothering him was magically fixed had anything to say about it.) 

So Crowley was faced across the table with a very fidgety, huffy angel who kept getting distracted from his bladder by the food and distracted from his food by his bladder. 

It was downright endearing, he thought, as Aziraphale sipped at his wine and frowned, running his finger along the side of the glass while tapping out a quick, disjointed rhythm on the table with his other hand. 

“You all right, then, angel?” 

An affirmative hum around a bite of risotto, and another sip of white wine to wash it down. “Of course. But it’s so much _ pressure, _Crowley.” 

“Think you need to leave?” They’d been at the restaurant nearly an hour and a half, which was not at all long by their standards, but Aziraphale had been drinking. Not as much as Crowley, but still drinking. 

Aziraphale looked scandalized, and gestured down to the only two-thirds finished plate in front of him. He seemed about to scold, but interrupted himself with a sharp breath. Crowley’s eyes flicked up so quickly that he was once again glad of the sunglasses. “I very much do not - Ah. Well. Perhaps in a moment.” 

Crowley slipped an unopened bottle of the white wine into a nearby pocket of space in preparation to leave. No sense in wasting it if he wasn’t going to have time to drink it all. “Not even a dessert. You _ must _be uncomfortable. Sure you don’t want cake? Something... moist?”

“Quiet, you.” Aziraphale set down the bill, which had appeared without any trace of a waiter, and actually squeezed his left hand into a fist for a split second before relaxing it with visible effort. 

Crowley realized that he was leaning _ very _far forward across the table when his newly grown-out hair slid into his eyes, and immediately sat back up. Aziraphale smirked, damn him, and he fought to keep his voice level.

“Let’s walk home, then?” 

“Well… I suppose,” was the slightly dubious reply. 

They’d taken the Bentley, on the way there. Crowley was sorely tempted to see how much his reckless driving would have an effect now that Aziraphale was even more distracted than usual, but the idea of drawing this game out longer was also nice. And, if he was being honest with himself - which as a (dubiously ex-)demon, he tried to avoid - he was almost as protective of his car’s non-stained existence as Aziraphale was of that of his clothes. 

Unfortunately for Crowley’s travel plans, Aziraphale got to his feet, went slightly pale, and immediately snapped his fingers, landing them both in the bedroom in the flat above the bookshop. 

(The Bentley followed to its usual illegal spot outside, because it knew better than to stay at an unfamiliar Italian restaurant alone. Crowley had raised it well.) 

Crowley laughed before he could stop himself. “That bad?” 

“Oh, don’t laugh,” huffed Aziraphale, who - now that they were out of view of anyone besides each other - was squirming quite a bit, looking almost panicked. “It’s just so _ much, _ and the body doesn’t like it -” he went to Crowley’s arms immediately. Crowley pulled him close, because Crowley couldn’t deny him anything, not really. “And I didn’t want to make a spectacle of myself, and of course I can’t quite tell if it’s just going to give out without my input -” he was beginning to bounce from foot to foot. “ _ Will _ it just give out without my input?” 

“Might do, yeah.” Crowley allowed enough space between them to reach for Aziraphale’s jacket, sliding it off of his shoulders and setting it aside. “Let’s get you out of these then, mm?” 

“Please.” He lent his help to the task - or as much help as his rapidly fluttering fingers could give. Still, Crowley was becoming quite practiced at undressing this particular angel. And what a thought that was, that he could become _ practiced, _that even after so many months this would happen and keep happening, and - 

Aziraphale whined slightly and tugged on Crowley’s hair to get his attention, and he nodded, apologetic, even as the sensation sent what blood was not already taking up residence in his cock directly down to it. Someone’s sake, he’d missed having long hair. “_ Ahh. _Right, right, sorry, angel.” He slid Aziraphale’s trousers and pants down without further ado to reveal a slightly unexpected effort, all thick blond curls and damp folds. “That’s new.” 

“No it isn’t, I had you four times with it last week.” 

_ That _ brought some very pleasant memories to the surface. “Not _ new _ new, I meant new to this sort of -” he’d forgotten the word again - “_escapade._” He was smiling, he realized. A mildly uncomfortable Aziraphale was even more of a fussy bastard than usual, and bless it if it wasn’t, well, damn adorable.

As if he could sense Crowley’s thoughts - which he probably could. Angelic love-sensing and all that - Aziraphale smiled back, face softening as much as it could under the circumstances. He led Crowley over to the bed until they were both sitting. “I thought if I was going to ask you to try it with this configuration later, I should be willing to try it first.” 

“Oh. Ah. Mhm,” said Crowley. “Er, right.” His cock had now taken even more of an interest in the goings-on, though with a lapful of naked, squirming angel, that wasn’t exactly difficult. “You still all right? Doesn’t hurt or -” 

“No, it doesn’t hurt, not so much as it’s just… rather urgent. Ah, very urgent. But, yes, I’m all right, my dear.” 

“Good.” Crowley began to remove his own clothes, while Aziraphale did his best to move off of his lap and sit on the bed. He was a sight, mildly out of breath and unable to keep still, eyes revealing the sort of tense desperation that indicated that as enjoyable as it was, this really couldn’t go on much longer. 

Once Crowley was equally naked, he pulled Aziraphale back along the bed, leaning them both against the pillows at the headboard. Aziraphale sat back on his knees, trembling. He was soft enough that Crowley couldn’t see a defined curve to his bladder under the skin the way he could with himself, but a gentle hand sliding over his lower belly still found only hot, tense roundness. 

Aziraphale made a strangled sound at the touch and clung to Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley’s cock twitched. He was suddenly tempted to feel the swell from the inside, slide his fingers into Aziraphale and _ press _ the liquid out. He settled for running two fingers up and down his slit, collecting slick wetness and feeling him jerk and clench down. (Too late. A dribble hit Crowley’s hand, and now Aziraphale wasn’t the only one making a choked noise.) 

Time seemed to stretch. There was a very desperate angel clinging onto him with his face buried in his neck, hips shuddering as he ground down against his own heel, hiding whimpers behind short breaths. 

Then - “Crowley,” said Aziraphale, with a sudden urgent, calm certainty that left no room for doubt. “Crowley, I do think I am about to wet myself.” 

Crowley made another strangled sound. 

_ “Crowley,” _ said Aziraphale, but he seemed frozen, didn’t seem to know what he needed, only that he wanted Crowley _ there. _And that much he could easily provide. 

“Come here and let me hold you for it, then, angel -” 

“I -” Aziraphale tried to move still closer, to climb back onto him, but the moment his hips lifted from his heel, the physical body gave up on trying to do what it couldn’t. 

A sort of shiver ran through him as his knees gave out, tilting sideways, and Crowley reached for him as his legs spread and his belly tensed, a sudden spurt hitting both of their skin. 

He was moaning, loud and unashamed, by the time he landed in Crowley’s lap, a great burst of liquid rushing between them and pooling over their legs. “Oh. _ Oh _.” A sweat-damp face pressed back into his neck. “Oh. Crowley, I can’t stop, I can’t, I’m trying, there’s so much -” He buried the words in Crowley’s skin. 

“Don’t.” The word felt torn from him, and then he was babbling a string of embarrassing nonsense, his cheek pressed to the top of Aziraphale’s head. “Don’t stop, then, you’re all right, just relax. It’s fine, you can make a mess of me, I don’t care -” 

Aziraphale moaned, and while he had already started to relax, the tension was bleeding out of him faster now, until he was limp and panting in Crowley’s hold, _ pissing against Crowley’s thigh, _making quiet, relieved noises deep in his chest. Occasionally he would shiver, and the stream would rush faster for a moment. 

Crowley held him, let him rest against his torso as his body emptied itself for far longer than he’d thought to expect. Rubbed a hand along his back, couldn’t seem to stop murmuring soft things. Couldn’t seem to stop twitching upward in stuttered half-thrusts, either. Love and lust and something in between. Something as human as - well, as this particular inescapable human requirement. “You waited so long, angel. Feels good to let it out, doesn’t it? Not quite as good as coming, but almost.” 

_ “Yes,” _ was the murmured reply. “It does, I - ah.” More and more warm wetness pooling around them. Aziraphale sighed blissfully as the flow began to taper off, only lifting his head from Crowley’s neck once it had ended. Crowley didn’t even want to guess at what he must look like right then, flushed and hard and with hips still trying to roll upwards despite himself. “So intense! Is it always…” 

“Only if you wait for too long first.” He swallowed. “Better?” 

“Oh, so much.” Aziraphale shifted a bit, and there was another small bloom of warmth on Crowley’s thigh, the last few drops. 

He couldn’t help but make the broken moan he made at that point, and Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “Oh, may I?” 

“You can do whatever you want with me, angel,” said Crowley, before he could stop to think about it. Not that he didn’t mean it. He did, he truly did. 

What Aziraphale wanted was apparently to sink down onto Crowley’s cock in a long, slow glide, and laugh with delight when he whined and his hips made another quickly stifled thrust. And, of course, to run his angelic mouth. “Oh, you feel so wonderful, my dear.”

He was still a bit out of breath. But then, they both were. “I hadn’t realized this would be so intense. We should try it at the same time next, don’t you think? Both of us - hmnh - losing control at once?” He drove downwards on Crowley’s cock as punctuation. “Ah! Oh, but it _ did _ feel so good to release like that. I didn’t know it would be so, ah, ah -” another thrust, no longer sharp and aborted, but a real, proper, deep one. Crowley was fairly certain his eyes rolled back in his head. “So pleasurable, _ yes. _ But I am - hn- partial to the way you look as you -” 

“Angel,” said Crowley, fighting for breath and bucking up into the incredible friction. “Keep talking like that and you’ll be watching the way I look when I come, insstead.” 

Aziraphale laughed a bright laugh that turned into a pleasured cry on the next roll of his hips. “Is that - oh, _Crowley, again, _please - meant to be a threat, dearest?” He leaned forward, rubbing his clit against Crowley’s stomach on the next downstroke. Crowley whined, a high broken sound, and Aziraphale threaded his fingers through his hair, long and silken now, and _pulled_. “I’m even _more _partial to the way you look when -” 

He didn’t get to finish that sentence, but he did get to see exactly what he wanted. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is later than I'd hoped it'd be, but omosneeb is at least partly responsible for that and i will take only partial blame. 💙  
(kidding. it's on me. but it's here now!) 
> 
> Based more or less on a comment prompt from the last chapter by KLaxAddict:   
"Competition/Bet/BDSM/whatever plot device you choose leads to Aggressive PIV Sex with the vulva-owner holding and trying not to let go before the penis-owner comes, cuz you gotta have maximum liquid in you. Also because if you come while holding you’re absolutely going to wet insanely too."

When Crowley ducked into the bookshop, it was with a swirl of cold night air. 

Early autumn was turning to late autumn, and it was shaping up to be the sort of season that made any self-respecting demon decide to find somewhere to curl up (preferably next to Aziraphale) and sleep for months. At least until the temperature got over its madness and returned to sensible levels. 

The problem, since of course there was a problem, was that Aziraphale had categorically forbidden him to sleep for longer than a week at a time. This was due to the humans he seemed fond of - book girl and the witch and the anti-christ and the lot - and  _ being available to them, Crowley,  _ and  _ not frittering away their lifetimes, Crowley,  _ and sure, perhaps he was right, but Crowley didn’t have to like it.    
(He also didn’t have to admit that, these days, he was doing things like  _ missing  _ little things about his life and  _ regretting  _ sleeping so long when he woke up from extended naps.)   


This was, he decided, a ridiculous line of thought. As it was, the bookshop was lovely and warm now that it was closed for the day, with no more customers to scare off, but he still made his way directly to Aziraphale’s side in search of stray angelic warmth. 

“‘Lo, angel.” 

“Hello, my dear.” He was standing at the till, reading - of course - and Crowley wrapped his arms around him from behind, careful not to drop the bag he carried. (Cake. Naturally.) He pressed a cold ear to Aziraphale’s cheek, hoping for a reaction, but instead he received a pleased hum as the book was set aside. “Are you quite all right?” 

“Mmgn.” He set the bag on the counter. “Too cold in London. Only getting worse from here.” This was said into the join of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder. “Brought you some sweets, though.” 

“Oh, _thank _you, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, practically beaming at him. “Did you get what you needed from your flat?” 

An affirmative mumble. As time had gone by, the flat above the bookshop had become more and more populated with sleek, minimalist furniture. It was sleek, minimalist furniture hidden under piles of books and clutter, but it was there. Not to mention the increase in plant life. 

It was also running out of room rather quickly. Crowley was beginning to consider - only consider, mind you - potentially moving the lot of it somewhere with more space. But not yet. Not too fast. 

He ruminated on this while Aziraphale ate his piece of seasonally appropriate carrot cake, making pleased murmurs every so often. Only when the last crumb was gone did he speak up again. “‘M going to curl up somewhere warm.” Pressed into soft skin, he added, “care to join me?” 

This was, in fact, a nefarious demonic plot. Namely, to stay in a warm bed for more than a week. Surely if Aziraphale was  _ with  _ him in said bed, he’d be easily distracted from the passage of time. Crowley could be very distracting. And then the end of autumn and all of winter would be over, no one would have to be cold, and they’d have a very nice shag or twenty. Foolproof. 

(Crowley did wonder if, after a few centuries, they’d get bored with  _ pleasures of the flesh,  _ as the angel called them. He for one could not imagine ever doing so, and Aziraphale took to sex with the same endless appetite he had for food and knowledge. Hence the relative certainty that, with enough vigorous persuasion, he could keep him in bed for the entirety of winter.) 

“Oh, darling, are you still too cold?” Aziraphale turned, frowning, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll make you some cocoa.” 

“Mmmnah. Whiskey. And come sit in the bed with me, at least.” 

“Cocoa it is, then, and I’ll be right along.” 

Crowley made a face at his retreating back, which softened into something unpleasantly soppy once he was certain he wouldn’t look over his shoulder, and made his way upstairs. A recently relocated spider plant failed to tremble at his approach. He cast an appropriately menacing glare in its direction and was gratified to see it shake a bit in response, even if just for form’s sake.

* * *

By the time Aziraphale arrived with the promised cocoa - he’d spiked both mugs with whiskey, the blessed caring attentive bastard - Crowley had slid naked under the sheets, stretching out and sighing. He saw Aziraphale’s eyes follow the movement ( _ you’re allowed to watch, now, you’re allowed to stare)  _ but he only handed over one of the mugs and settled himself into a prim and proper sitting position at the headboard. On top of the duvet, even. 

Crowley wriggled his way back out of the sheet tangle and draped himself over Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Angel.” 

“Yes, my dear?” A smirk in his voice. “Was there something you wanted?” 

“Ah - yeah. Yeah,  _ actually, _ there is.”

“Then drink your cocoa first.” It was given as an order, and Aziraphale’s eyes were dark. Crowley was willing to bet a fair amount that, were he to slide his hands under those too-fancy trousers, he’d find him half-hard at least. And oh, how he wanted to do that. 

Instead, he drank his cocoa. It was warm down his throat and warm in his chest. 

It took an embarrassingly long time to notice that the mug was not emptying. But then, Aziraphale was methodically removing his tie, then waistcoat, then shirt, and Crowley was rather preoccupied with each bit of skin exposed. When he did notice that not only was the mug still full, but it also had converted into a nonalcoholic version in the interest of not getting too drunk for other activities, his eyes widened a bit before he could stop them. 

“Playing like that, then?” It had been… what, a month? A bit more? Since Aziraphale had let Crowley hold him, tease his swollen bladder, run his fingers over his slit as he fought to hold on. Since he’d eventually broken, releasing all over his lap in a panting, gasping rush of warmth that had gone on and on. Crowley shivered and changed Efforts without even consciously thinking about it, giving himself the vagina Aziraphale had found so pleasant, and immediately whined in his throat, shifting his hips.

“Only if that’s all right with you,” was the gentle response. The formality of it was somewhat ruined by the fact that Aziraphale was also entirely naked at this point. 

“Nng. Yes.” He set the cup aside after another long drink and looked him up and down. Hungry. “Especially if we fuck while we’re waiting.” 

Aziraphale seemed to consider this, even as he tilted his head up so Crowley could press a kiss to his lips. “I don’t want you too worn out.” 

“Too worn - look, angel, it wouldn’t matter, I’d just let go that much easier,” said Crowley, and then chased the kiss, unwilling to break apart for long. Aziraphale let him in, sighing happily into his mouth, a sound Crowley treasured. 

Then he snapped his fingers, broke away, and held out another cup. “Drink this, then.” 

Crowley looked at it. To all appearances, plain water. Making eye contact, he raised the rim to his kiss-swollen lips and downed it before diving back in, pulling Aziraphale down to the bed with him. 

For a while, he lost himself in it, in giving Aziraphale what he wanted, letting him run his hands across his chest, his jaw, his hips. Letting him skim his fingers along the crease where his thigh met his pelvis and moaning as his hips twitched upwards without his permission. Letting him press kisses and soft nips into his collarbones until he sighed, deep in his throat, or gently scrape teeth along his nipple until he moaned. 

The problem with being immortal was that the two of them didn’t have…  _ quite  _ a perfect grasp of the passage of time. It was absolutely functional, of course, but it certainly _ felt  _ like hours that Aziraphale was simply exploring his skin, brushing and teasing. This wasn’t unusual. 

It only occurred to Crowley that it _had _in fact been hours when Aziraphale finally leaned over him to slip two fingers between his folds, finding him dripping, and the answering jolt jarred the fullness in his abdomen. A fullness that had definitely not been there when this whole thing started. 

For a moment he wondered if Aziraphale had miracled the cocoa so it would take effect faster, but then he decided that while it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, he didn’t really care. More important things to think about, right then. The fingers on him were  _ sublime  _ after so much teasing. 

“In,” he said, tensing his muscles briefly to make sure he could still hold for that. He could. Probably. Possibly. “Please.” 

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow, but slid his fingers inside him as soon as Crowley relaxed. 

This had the interesting effect of sending a rush of pleasure through him while at the same time making him tense up once more, squirming. Aziraphale didn’t make it easy on him, either, sliding the two fingers along the front of his walls and over the spot which was usually so pleasant, and still was, but now was also  _ directly over his bladder, fucking hell - heaven - fuck. _

He whined wordlessly for a moment, looking up at Aziraphale’s eyes where he leaned over him. They were blown out, dark with arousal, but also...  _ curious. _ The curiosity manifested as the angel’s fingers almost  _ kneading  _ at him, feeling the swell of trapped liquid from the inside, and sending a vicious pang through Crowley’s whole body.

“Angel,” he said, and there was a humiliating quiver in his voice. He cleared his throat. “Aziraphale. Can we get on?” 

“I thought you wanted to pass the time like this, dearheart,” murmured Aziraphale, a smile playing around his lips. Crowley glared at him. 

“I - look. It’s been enough time and I don’t want to lose it before all that effort gets put to use,” he said, gesturing towards Aziraphale’s lap. He only got a sigh for a response, but the fingers slipped out of him (was that noise he just made relief or displeasure? He couldn’t tell and decided that wasn’t important either) as he wrapped a hand around Aziraphale’s shaft, drawing out a sharp sound of pleasure. The ensuing adjustment, the moment of quiet just  _ before,  _ as Aziraphale settled between his legs and lined himself up, gave him a moment to catch his breath. 

Crowley had taken and been taken by Aziraphale in every position they could think of, with every configuration they could bother with. So he rather thought he knew what to expect. The pleasant slide, the slight stretch, the sensation of being filled, of being  _ close  _ to him. 

He had not considered that being filled with anything else was the last thing his body wanted to allow at the moment. 

If the fingers pressing at the swell of pressure from inside him were too much, this was something else altogether. There wasn’t  _ room,  _ not for this much liquid and this much of Aziraphale. He pushed the rest of the way in, or else Crowley pushed the rest of the way down, until their hips were flush together and Aziraphale’s cock was dragging against his bladder through the skin. 

Crowley whimpered, though he’d deny it later, and buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder to feel his arms pull him in, safe. 

“You’re all right, my dear. You’re doing so well.” There was a low husk to Aziraphale’s voice that only appeared when he was sheathed in Crowley. It was very much present now, and it caused a pleasant shiver down his spine, which in turn caused a shudder when his swollen bladder complained about so much as shifting a few centimeters. 

“Angel, I might not -” 

“You can wait for me, can’t you? Until we’ve finished?” 

Crowley was not at all certain he could. Another tremor ran through him, his body trying to force him to release the pressure. He willed his muscles to tighten, and it worked, at least in the short term. Then he realized halfway through that doing that caused a delightful squeeze along Aziraphale’s cock, sending a quick spark of pleasure through him. 

So he did it again, relishing the sound it drew from them both. And then again, and again, and while he was still desperately full, it was easier to ignore when in direct competition with the heat that was building. 

“‘Course I’ll wait,” Crowley said, with a hint of bravado and a tiny roll of his hips. Of course, for Crowley,  _ a tiny roll of his hips  _ translated to quite a bit of motion, and Aziraphale took a hitched breath as his hands moved to steady him. “But… quickly, yeah?” 

In answer, Aziraphale leaned down and kissed him, hot and open. Crowley kissed back with just as much enthusiasm, occasional moans into his mouth accompanied by more twitches around him. 

Then Aziraphale pulled back and thrust into him, and Crowley had to break away to muffle his undignified squeak into his shoulder. He truly,  _ honestly  _ wasn’t sure how he was managing to hold on with Aziraphale’s cock driving against his bladder like that, but bless it all if it didn’t feel  _ good. _

“I -” he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. He shoved his hips back down to meet the next thrust and cut himself off with a hitched gasp of definite pleasure and just as definite urgency. “I -  _ hhh _ -” 

There were lips on his brow, now, and on his face. “I know, my dear.” 

It was odd, Crowley thought, with what small part of his brain remained coherent. Every thrust jarred, even hurt a bit with the constant pushing into his bladder, and each one seemed to break down his self-control a bit more. He was sure each time that the next thrust, the next involuntary pang, would be the one to do him in, but the pleasure rose higher and higher and he still didn’t break. He’d successfully confused his corporation into submission. The thought struck him with a giddy snort. 

Aziraphale pulled back to look at him, but seemed satisfied with what he saw, and leaned back down to press his smile into Crowley’s neck, pressing burning kisses to it. 

They couldn’t stay like this forever. Crowley was already starting to shake, breaths coming faster and harder, with broken sounds on the exhales as Aziraphale drove into him. There was heat and pleasure and desperate pressure combined and it just kept rising; one of the two needs had to give. And, he was quickly realizing, the other would follow without any say on his part. “I - Aziraphale -” 

The angel was just as close, drawing in a sharp breath as he met his eyes again, hips stuttering. “Yes, love - yes -” 

“I -” What was he trying to say?  _ I can’t hold? I want more? I love you?  _ “You first,” he managed, and surged upward to pull Aziraphale’s earlobe into his mouth, suckling at it before biting sharply. The hand that wasn’t braced against the bed, he pressed into the small of his back, urging him forward, deeper, until their hips ground together again. 

“Crowley -” It started as a surprised exhalation, then turned into a moan.  _ “Oh,  _ I -” 

If Crowley had had full use of his words, he’d have said something along the lines of  _ Look, Angel, the minute I come I’m not going to be able to wait anymore, so you’d better get off first, because I’m not waiting around for this damn bladder to fill back up again if this wasn’t the way you wanted things.  _

Instead, he pulled back from where his teeth had left a mark on the soft ear and said simply, “Come now.  _ Please.” _

And Aziraphale did. His hips stuttered before thrusting back into him once, twice more, and he gave a cry that was almost startled for all that it was pleasured, something that might have been Crowley’s name or might have been nothing at all as he spilled into him. 

And he sighed a bit as he came down, the pleased, sated sound that Crowley adored. 

Unfortunately, he only managed to adore it for a few seconds before realizing that he’d made a horrible mistake. 

Stopping took away the building edge, and with it whatever was keeping him from completely losing control. He froze, then whined, hips jolting almost violently as his body decided it would  _ not  _ carry on doing what he wanted from it, it was going to expel everything in one long blissful rush in the  _ very  _ near future, and it was not listening to his input on the matter. 

“Fuck,” he said, very nearly calm despite the squirming, which was only increasing in speed. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, the post-orgasm haze clearing from his vision as he took in Crowley’s state. (Really a rather pathetic one, not to mention frantic.) Crowley looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and he was sure the panic in his eyes was perfectly clear. 

“I need,” he said, even as his whole abdomen seemed to contract. “I won’t be able to - I need,  _ please -”  _

And Aziraphale, perfect beautiful creature that he was,  _ understood. _ Made himself hard again with a thought, pressed back in. “Oh, darling. I know. I have you.” 

Crowley fucked back down onto him immediately with a desperate gasp, setting a faster pace that Aziraphale matched without hesitation. And yes, it was building again, building even higher than before, arousal making the tired muscles somehow stretch to accommodate both Aziraphale’s cock and his swollen bladder, now taut like an overfilled wineskin. 

That thought did not help. Crowley, with great effort, found words. “Angel, hh, I - I won’t be able to, not once - I’m so close - I can’t tell -” 

Aziraphale seemed to take this as a request to touch Crowley’s clit, which, while not the intended message, was greatly appreciated in a very immediate way. Two magically slicked fingers slid up against him, friction in fast circles along with the thrusts, but now his thumb was digging into the hard swell between his hips, and there was another sharp pang of need - o _ h, fuck,  _ he was definitely about to do  _ something,  _ and the fact that he wasn’t sure whether that something was  _ piss all over both of them  _ or  _ come very, very hard _ didn’t seem to matter much. 

Then Aziraphale did something with his hand that Crowley barely even registered, save that it pushed him over the edge in a truly spectacular fashion. 

He was probably making noise, and he knew his tired muscles had given out, but there was no gush of liquid. Or if there was, he certainly didn’t notice it, because anything even remotely in the vicinity seemed more preoccupied with pulsing through one of the better orgasms he’d ever had. 

Top five, he thought hazily, as Aziraphale gentled him through it, at  _ least.  _ It occurred to him that he was sobbing with each aftershock, each flutter around Aziraphale. There were sweet, soft words being murmured into his hair, and arms cradling him close as he rode out the last of it, pleasure turning to lazy calm as Aziraphale pulled out and - 

“Fuck.” Crowley jolted, again. “Angel, fuck, I can’t -” 

“That’s all right, hush, love, you’ve done wonderfully.” Aziraphale rolled to pull him close, chest to chest, limbs entangled. “Relax now.” 

There was really no way to stop it at that point, not now that he’d relaxed beyond the point of no return. Still warm from his orgasm, Crowley only really registered that there was pressure, and then there was... not. Still tight, still tense, but slowly, slowly, the desperate need was turning to calm. 

He looked at the space between their bodies. Yes, he was making a mess of them both, a hard fast stream that his body had decided on for him and didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. With a quiet groan, he buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder and shivered. 

“Oh,” he heard from above him, and then there were angelic hands in his hair, comforting. He sank into it, and the gush of liquid only seemed to increase, rushing against both of their thighs. “Oh, look at you, dearheart. Rest now, just feel it.” 

It was a long, long time before the stream slowed, and Crowley shifted his hips into the new comfort, sighing. Every so often, another tremor ran through him, but he was truly empty, and nothing came of it. 

He scarcely noticed when Aziraphale miracled the mess away and pulled him even closer, but he did come around enough to say,

“We’re staying like this until spring.” 

Quiet, joyful laughter, and a tender kiss to the top of his head. “One week at most, Crowley.” 

“A month.” 

“I’m going to Hyde Park on Wednesday.” 

“...All right, until Wednesday, then.” 

This compromise deemed acceptable, Aziraphale curled around him, and Crowley drifted to sleep feeling warm. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still around!  
This is based on a (very polite and lovely!) request from subtlesraf, completed... exactly a month later, rip. The holidays did a number on my spare time for writing. 
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoy! As always, feel free to leave comments with requests. I read them all.

It was nearly three in the morning in the South Downs. Everything was going exactly as could be expected at nearly three in the morning in the South Downs - save for two bottles of scotch, which were, to their own surprise, failing to empty no matter how many glasses were poured from them. 

Personally, Crowley thought they simply knew, deep in their little glass hearts, that to run dry would be to disappoint Aziraphale, and they would never dare. 

It might have been his own miracle, though, and he’d just forgotten about doing it. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to keep track anymore. 

No, Crowley didn’t need to do much of anything anymore, besides sprawl out on the sofa (a new sofa that was both much more his style and _ not hideously uncomfortable to sprawl upon), _ and lean into Aziraphale’s warm side (sitting together, _ we’re on our side), _and be cheerfully, pleasantly, shitfaced drunk. 

The cottage was still gently illuminated in the glow of several lamps, throwing shadows on the bookcases and shelves with which Aziraphale had lined the walls in every single room, because there were too many books to limit to their designated place. Well, the walls in nearly every room. Crowley ran a quick tally, with as few distractions as he could manage, only stopping to refill his glass again. 

Not the kitchen, which was busy containing a stovetop and oven and even a refrigerator, which, despite not being plugged in, knew enough to keep any food in it at the correct temperature. And not the bathroom, which was primarily for the enormous tub Aziraphale favored. It crowded most of the room and left no room for bookshelves. Barely any room for a toilet and sink, though they only kept those for the rare human visitors. The two of them only had any need to relieve themselves when they wanted it that way, and Crowley hadn’t had a bladder since… winter, wasn’t it?

Right, winter. He thought back fondly. 

“Angel,” he said, gesturing with the half-full glass of scotch and soda. “D’you know, we could?” 

“Could what, dear?” Aziraphale was just as drunk as he was, Crowley noted with mingled affection and satisfaction. 

“‘F you want to.” 

“I want to.” 

“You don’t even know yet.” 

“I can guess. You’ve got the expes- the espress - the look. The look you have when you want to take me to bed.” 

This was slander. Crowley forgot his train of thought. “I don’t have a look!” 

“You do, dearest, you lean forward like that.” 

Crowley waved this thought away as one would an irritating fly, but refused to move from where he was, indeed, leaning more into Aziraphale’s space than was strictly necessary for anything other than a clinging vine. “Always want to take you to bed, tha’s irrelevant. Have to sober up a bit first though. But no, I meant, r’member before? Few months ago? Had a bladder again. And a cunt. ‘Nd you fucked me with it and I was desperate for a piss and -” 

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Aziraphale interrupted, flushed. Crowley smirked, letting his tongue fork a bit. 

“And you loved it. We could. It’d be your turn if you want it, angel, let me play with you until you don’t know which you want more? Let me make it good?” 

Aziraphale laughed, and leaned to kiss him, tasting of liquor. Crowley stared at him, still somewhat awestruck, when he pulled away. “You don’t have to _ tempt, _Crowley, I’m perfectly happy to do whatever you wish - whatever I wish. I do as I wish but it’s for you.” He grimaced. “Although I’m going to sober up first.” 

“Ah, yeah. Make a bladder before you do?” 

“Oh! Right you are, terribly sorry, I’ll just -” he snapped his fingers and adjusted his shoulders as though settling into a coat. “Mm.” 

They both concentrated for a moment, and upon looking up, found themselves far less inebriated than before. Barely tipsy, really. Still, Crowley was willing to bet that Aziraphale had run most of the alcohol through his system and directly into his bladder instead of just getting rid of it, because he was already beginning to fidget. 

So was Crowley, if only because he’d never exactly asked for this before, and now that he was sober he was beginning to overthink it. It had been a few months, after all. Perhaps it was only something Aziraphale wanted _ him _to do, or else a curiosity that had already been appeased. The words were out before he could stop them. “This still all right? I mean, it was just a thought, you know how I get, ‘s all right if you don’t...” 

Aziraphale seemed to be fighting a smile. “Dearest,” he said, and leaned up for a quick kiss. “I’d like nothing better.”

Crowley kissed him back, deeper, longer, and relaxed into it. It was easier, while lost in it, to quiet his thoughts. It was a _ thank you _kiss, though he’d never admit it, the sort of kiss that couldn’t quite believe its luck. 

For all of that, though, it was also a kiss with _ intent, _ and it ended with the both of them tangled together on the comfortable sofa, panting against each others’ mouths, legs entwined and hips rolling together in a slow push and pull. 

Crowley forced himself to pull away for a moment. “How long?” 

“I’ve only done this the once,” muttered Aziraphale, though his tone was lacking any real bite. “I can’t be certain.” He slid a hand between them to run clever fingers along Crowley’s cock over his trousers and rub, causing a hissed-out breath and another, harder roll of his hips. 

“‘F you can concentrate well enough to do that, still a while,” he said, wriggling free, though not without regret. “Not now, angel, I’ve got plans.” 

Aziraphale frowned, but didn’t press, seeming more or less content to let Crowley lead and to go back to the deep, thorough kisses. They had time, after all.

Perhaps that was some of the appeal, Crowley thought some minutes after that, with what bit of his mind wasn’t scrambled by all this kissing. Time, that was. There wasn’t much urgency when they could - and often did - spend days on end in bed, having as many orgasms as they damn well pleased. This, on the other hand, put a sharp sense of desperation, of _ need, _over it all. 

Speaking of. Aziraphale was definitely squirming now, running his hands over Crowley’s sides in aimless, disorganized caresses. He shifted back and forth, a quiet noise of discomfort in his throat, and his fingers fluttered a bit as though asking for attention. 

Crowley fought the immediate and innate urge to _ fix whatever is upsetting the angel immediately _ and instead pushed and pulled various limbs, coaxing until the two of them were readjusted, kneeling on the floor with Aziraphale’s back to Crowley’s chest. He protected the carpet with a quick thought (though didn’t extend the same courtesy to their clothes) and wasted no time undoing Aziraphale’s trousers, pressing sweet kisses along his neck as he slid his pants down enough to get a hand around his cock. 

Aziraphale shivered, only slightly, but enough to notice. He was almost fully hard, and even as Crowley watched, his breath caught and he twitched against his hand. 

Crowley didn’t move for a long moment. Long enough for Aziraphale to sigh out a frustrated breath, at least, and he seemed about to say something scolding before another, sharper shiver ran through him, and his hips jolted. A hand darted back to catch at Crowley’s wrist - the other one, the one that _ wasn’t _attached to the hand which had started in on him with agonizingly slow strokes - and he made another stifled noise. 

“Crowley,” he said, barely-hidden desperation in his voice. 

“Hmm?” He punctuated this with two faster, firmer pulls. 

A rush of flustered words. “I don’t know how long, I didn’t want to wait so I ran everything out of the bloodstream through to the bladder. But of course that is rather the point? It’s just it all happened at once, and I’m not sure when - and I, my body keeps trying to -” 

Crowley just pulled him closer to his chest, burying his face in the spot where his neck met his shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed with affection. Ridiculous emotion. Ridiculous angel. 

Ridiculous how much he loved him. 

Not to mention ridiculous that these were the thoughts he was having in the middle of a much more interesting activity. He gave himself a mental shake after one more lingering kiss to Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Best not let it yet,” he said, keeping his tone light. “State you’re in -” he cast a less-than-subtle look to where his hand was still slowly moving over Aziraphale, entirely hard by now - “it’ll get all over your clothes.” 

“You’d fix them for me.” It wasn’t a question. Crowley had to smile. 

“‘Course I would.” That much was never in doubt. “But you’d remember it anyway.” He refused to speed up. “Let me take care of you first, then you can just let go here, right after, ‘f you like. All right?” 

He stopped moving altogether while waiting for Aziraphale’s answer. The answer manifested as a twitch of the hand on Crowley’s wrist and a tiny nod, and when that failed to satisfy, an insistent _ “Yes, _ Crowley, but please _ hurry.” _

“What happened to patience? And self-discipline?” Aziraphale wasn’t facing him, but Crowley was sure his smile was audible in his tone. 

“Taken a temporary leave of absence, dearest, and if you’re not going to do something then at least move your hand so I can do it myself.” 

Crowley did not, in fact, do so. He leaned his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder and started in with a rhythm that, while still too slow, was far closer to what was being asked of him. His other hand slid over Aziraphale’s clothed hip and thigh, as gentle and slow as he could manage. 

Aziraphale sighed quietly, leaning further back into Crowley’s embrace, and for a moment seemed almost content. 

This was familiar territory, this lazy pleasure, as Aziraphale’s breathing started to speed up despite the slow pace. He let out a quiet sound on a particularly good downstroke, the sort of sound that went directly to Crowley’s dick, the sort of sound he loved to spend hours, days, weeks coaxing out of that angelic throat over and over. 

_ (Let me give you this. Let me make you feel good.) _

This time, though, it was coated in that same new sense of urgency. Aziraphale nearly whined, grinding up against Crowley’s hand, and as Crowley paused to slide his fingers along his lower stomach, he shuddered. 

“Hurry, please,” he said, and it was probably meant to sound imperious, but mostly it sounded desperate. “I - I can’t. I want to -” His thighs were shaking, not with pleasure - or at least not _ only _with pleasure, he was quite visibly still hard - but with the strain of holding on for so long. 

“It’s not like it really matters,” said Crowley, faux-casually. “You _ could _piss now, if you’re not bothered about the clothes. Don’t mind me.” 

Aziraphale was, in fact, bothered about the clothes, and Crowley knew it. However, his corporation’s bladder did not seem to have caught up on the memo, because it was at that moment that it convulsed furiously and he leaked a slow trickle, running down the length of him and making a tiny wet spot on his open trousers.

“Ah! I - I need -” the words were breathed out on an almost-sob. Crowley could hardly take it. 

“I know,” he said, and - finally - sped up his strokes, moving with intent. As he did this, though, he pressed down gently with his other hand, directly over Aziraphale’s bladder. 

There was an immediate gush of liquid, but only a small one. Aziraphale’s breath was still gasping in and out, catching in his throat in the way Crowley recognized to mean that it wouldn’t take much for him to come, now. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale had even realized it, as preoccupied as he was. 

“I - I need, I can’t wait,” he was saying, as if to himself. “I can’t wait, I can’t -” 

Crowley sucked a stinging, biting kiss into the side of Aziraphale’s neck, ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, and relished the loud cry he caused. 

_ “Crowley!” _

“Yes, angel?” 

_ “Please. _I’m about to, I can’t.” More liquid, running down the side of Aziraphale’s cock as it pulsed with his heartbeat. “Crowley. Dearheart.” 

“I know, yeah. Shh, ‘s all right, I’ve got you.” Crowley’s strokes were fast and hard now, everything he’d learned that Aziraphale liked. He was tempted to ask what, exactly, Aziraphale was _ about to, _ but there was no guarantee that he actually knew. Either way, Crowley’s own heart was pounding, racing, _ anticipating. _ “I’ve got you, go ahead, you’re all right.” 

“I - oh. Yes, like that, please, oh, I -” And with a cry that was just as startled as it was pleasured (and it was quite a bit of both) Aziraphale threw his head back onto Crowley’s shoulder and came, shaking, spilling over Crowley’s fingers and dripping to the floor. 

Crowley pulled him closer still with his other arm and realized he was moaning as well, low in his chest, but didn’t bother to be embarrassed. Not when he could kiss Aziraphale’s sweat-soaked curls, hold him, gentle him through the end of an orgasm in his arms. “There, love, yes. Fuck.” 

Aziraphale took a shuddering breath as it tapered off, going soft in his hand, but the tension in his muscles never eased. There was no pause, no cease of pressure. 

“Crowley,” he said, and even as he caught his breath he was half-turning, reaching for him, entire body shaking. “Crowley. Crowley, I _can’t _wait. I can’t!” 

Crowley nodded and kissed his neck again, up to his ear. “It’s all right,” he said, once more. “Don’t need to. Go on.” 

Aziraphale breathed out, then gasped. Whined a bit as he jerked in Crowley’s hold, something in his tone moving from desperate to inevitable. 

And then he _ burst, _was the only word for it, hands falling to his sides as liquid poured from him, pissing onto the floor between his knees. The stream was missing his trouser legs, barely, but beginning to pool under them as the puddle grew. 

“Oh,” he said, breathless, and looked down for a moment, before closing his eyes as the stream only increased, rushing louder. _ “Oh. _Oh, that’s. I couldn’t, I need to -” words seemed to fail him there. Crowley could sympathize. 

Aziraphale did not even attempt to stop, letting out long breaths and leaning back, spreading his knees a bit more and relaxing into it. He was making little relieved sounds of pleasure as he did. Crowley still held him in one hand, keeping the worst of it from going anywhere but onto the floor, but he rubbed over his bladder with the other, and felt the oddest urge to laugh as this only made him piss harder and groan in relief.

They knelt there, Crowley stunned and not concerned with the mess and Aziraphale scarcely even noticing, until everything Aziraphale had drunk and miracled through his body was no longer in it, the last trickles running to the floor. 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale again. He’d opened his eyes. 

Crowley, for a moment, couldn’t speak. His entire mind was stuck on _ theangel, likethat, relievedandmoaningandpissinginCrowley’shand. _ He cleared his throat, and snapped his fingers to give himself more time to gather his thoughts, and hopefully redirect some blood to his brain. Instantly, the floor and the bottoms of Aziraphale’s trousers were dry and clean. 

“Thank you, dearheart,” said Aziraphale, still a bit out of breath. 

“Mm. Uh. Don’t mention it. You all right?” 

Aziraphale turned to face him. “I feel absolutely wonderful, my dear. Are you? You seem still in need of something.” He was glancing down to where, Crowley knew, he was as hard as he could ever remember being, aching. “Would you mind terribly if I…”

Crowley tried for a moment to find his words. “Mnnm,” he said. “I. I wouldn’t mind, no. Nah.” The next sentence was a mush of words. “But if you so much as breathe on me right now I am going to ruin my trousers and it’s going to be very un-demonic.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. _ “Crow_ley,” he said, and slid a hand under his chin, lifting until he had a good view of his expression. (Crowley didn’t even want to _ think _ of what his expression might be, right then.) “Of the two of us, I doubt _ you _can be the one accused of ruining any trousers.” 

Crowley stared at him. “I should ignore you for that,” he said. “I should - _ angel, fuck!” _

Aziraphale’s clever hand had figured out where it was going, and Crowley stopped thinking for the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Feel free to leave comments with things you'd like to see. No promises, of course, but I'm starting to find that writing omo for two immortal celestial beings is very nice stress relief. 
> 
> Also, I'm on tumblr at no-omo-bro if you'd like to find me there! Though it's not just Good Omens stuff.


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